


That Time of Year

by Ammar



Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Forum: Goldenlake, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 06:04:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11075547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammar/pseuds/Ammar
Summary: Raoul keeps trying to find people to kidnap Alanna, Jon, and Gary. Surprisingly, there are no takers.





	That Time of Year

“I’m not doing it,” Alan of Pirate’s Swoop announced, with a grimace.  
  
Lord Sir Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie’s Peak, Commander of the King’s Own, and most pertinently, _his_ knight-master said, cajolingly, “But imagine how priceless it would be…”  
  
His squire had the cheek—the cheek!—to grin impudently. “Your lordship, they may call you the Giantslayer, but my Ma’s the Lioness. Unless you can teach me to outfight her—”  
  
“I’m sure she’s getting old,” Raoul said, loftily. “Are you _that_ terrified of her?”  
  
“—then no, I’m _not_ helping you hatch a grand plot to kidnap my Ma _and_ the king _and_ the prime minister, my lord.” Without missing a beat, Alan added, “And Sir Geoffrey _still_ says he’s terrified of her. I stand in good company.”  
  
“So be it,” Raoul muttered, darkly. “Your objections have been noted, Squire. Now, I order you to—“  
  
Alan held up his hands in a forestalling gesture. “No,” he repeated. “My lord, I’m happy to help you find a place and procure the drinks and the food, but I draw the line at making my Ma angry.”  
  
“Treacherous coward,” Raoul uttered, shaking his head sadly. “Whatever happened to the young squires of Tortall these days?”  
  
“And,” Alan added, for good measure, “I happen to know on good authority that Lady Knight Keladry said that you _would_ ask me to do it and that I should tell you exactly what she said back then, which is: absolutely no.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“My lord,” said Sergeant Domitan of Masbolle, grinning. “Isn’t this the exact same question you asked last year, and the year before last, and…”  
  
“The year before the year before last,” interjected Padair, one of the oldest members of the squad. He was sprawling indolently on the grass, chewing on a strip of jerky.  
  
“And the year before that,” muttered Lerant, darkly.  
  
“What’s wrong with that?” asked Ingrey, one of the newest recruits in Dom’s squad.  
  
Dom shook his head sorrowfully. “Alas, young Ingrey, you will soon learn that the business of kidnapping the Lioness is likely to result in much cursing on our part, a sorry tongue-lashing from the Lioness herself, and a pointed lesson with the business end of her sword. Padair, tell him about the Incident.”  
  
“Someone tried to help my lord get her,” replied Padair, laconically. “She cut his clothes off. Scratched him up a bit too.”  
  
Ingrey paled.  
  
“So, my lord,” explained Dom, “The answer’s same as every year: we’ll help you with the logistics—“  
  
“I’ll even help you procure the special mulled juice from the Dancing Dove,” Lerant volunteered. “And the pastries. And the cheese and fruit.” Julen elbowed him, and he stopped, with a glare.  
  
“—but we won’t help you kidnap the Lioness or his Majesty,” Dom finished, gravely. “Please understand our position, my lord. We value our lives.”  
  
“And our dignity,” muttered Padair.

 

* * *

  
  
Sir Zahir ibn Alhaz, the Bazhir ambassador, listened gravely to Raoul’s words, and then politely showed him to the door.  
  


* * *

  
  
Neal muttered, accusingly, “You’re trying to get me _killed_.”  
  
Raoul said, “Oh, come on. You survived four years as her squire. What’s something like this next to that?”  
  
Neal shuddered. “Do you know how many times she said the only reason she didn’t kill me was because she’d have to explain _that_ to my father?” He flung out his hands dramatically. “My lord, do I look like a man who’s tired of wedded bliss to you? Do I look like a man who is desperate to visit some of the darkest days of his life?”  
  
Lady Yukimi noh Diaomoru swept her shukusen up to her face, politely screening her mouth. Her eyes, though, glittered. “Thank you for your kind visit, my lord,” she said, gravely. “We wish you all success in your search.”  
  


* * *

  
  
After consulting his ledger, Master Oakbridge confirmed that Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan had not suddenly come back to reside at the palace. Salma agreed with that assessment.  
  


* * *

  
  
“I cannot believe,” said Raoul, sadly, “That it’s come to this.”  
  
His partner in crime, peering carefully around the corner, agreed. “I know,” he said. “If my lord of Cavall ever hears of this, I’ll be un-betrothed faster than you can say, ‘I apologise, my lord.’”  
  
“Hmm?”   
  
“When in doubt,” Sir Owen of Jesslaw said, gravely, “Always apologise.”  
  
“Then why did you agree?”  
  
His response came in the form of a careless shrug. “Oh, it seemed rather jolly,” Sir Owen said, with good cheer. “Also, because my lord of Cavall’s told me I need some other hobby than hunting bandits.”  
  
“Well, then,” Raoul said, “We’re simply hunting a different sort of prey. A different, dangerous sort of prey.”  
  
“Oh please,” a familiar voice snorted. “She’s going to tear you a new one, you know that?”  
  
Raoul deliberately turned around, while Owen started and nearly jumped out of his skin. Sir Gareth the Younger stood there, mock-scowling at them.  
  
“You really need to brush up on your ambush techniques, old friend,” Gary said, smoothening out his mustache. “You’ve not gotten any better at this hunting business, and Alanna’s revenge is the stuff of palace legend.”  
  
“Oh ye of little faith,” Raoul smirked. “This time, I have a secret weapon. Meet Sir Owen of Jesslaw.”  
  
“A pleasure,” Gary said, brusquely but not unkindly, with a nod of greeting. “Seriously, Raoul: I could see your arse from two corridors away.”  
  
Raoul drew himself up and said, stiffly, “We do our best with what we’re given.”  
  
“You’re just bad at hiding,” Gary retorted.  
  
Owen said, “So…are we kidnapping him?”  
  
Gary and Raoul exchanged Looks. Eventually, Gary raised his ink-stained sleeves. “I surrender to the honourable opposition,” he said, dryly. “If only because you’re never going to catch yourself a Lioness at this rate.”  
  
Raoul shrugged, but he was grinning. “See, what did I tell you?” he said to Owen. To Gary, “Just because you got the top grades in Lord Martin’s Strategic Planning class—”  
  
“I was his best student _ever_ , he said, I’ll have you know.”  
  
“That’s on paper. It doesn’t count. Strategy and command’s a different kettle of fish out there in the field.”  
  
“You only say that because you did the worst.”  
  
“How did you know?” asked Owen.  
  
“Eh?” Raoul asked, eloquently.  
  
Gary raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”  
  
Owen pointed to his empty hands. “You’re not carrying anything. No papers. Fairly old tunic and breeches. Looks to me like you were looking for _us_.”  
  
Gary clapped, slowly. “Oh, well done, Jesslaw.” To Raoul, “See? _That’s_ proper strategic genius in action.”  
  
“Wearing an old tunic and breeches? Oh, come off it.”  
  
“I’d be surprised if half the palace _didn’t_ already know,” Gary said, to Owen. “Neither of you has been particularly subtle. The cooks were gossiping to each other—something about the King’s Own mobilising half the palace in finding the best turnovers.” He turned to Raoul. “You’re really outdoing yourself this year, old man.”  
  
“I’m the same age as you, you know,” Raoul countered. “If I’m old, you’re just as ancient.” He grinned, wickedly. “Well, shall we, then?”  
  
“Show Jesslaw how a pair of old men do it?” Gary bowed; a florid, elegant movement. “After you.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“Are you _absolutely_ sure Alanna doesn’t know a thing?” Raoul hissed, from his prone position.  
  
Gary shrugged. “How would I know?” he wanted to know. “She could’ve heard about it.”  
  
Owen murmured, “How’s that a bad thing?”  
  
For that, he caught the glares of both older knights. “What?” Owen asked, defensively. “Where’d be the fun in that, if she didn’t know?”  
  
Raoul said, suspiciously, “I thought Wyldon was supposed to teach you _strategy_.”  
  
“Strategy’s for bandits,” Owen said, dismissively. “This is for _fun_. Not the same thing at all.”  
  
“So I see,” Raoul said, trying to grapple with the younger knight’s logic. “Well, no sense in courting trouble.”  
  
“ _Literally_ courting, in your case,” Gary sniggered, watching as Buri and Alanna practised archery against the targets set up in the palace yard. “Really, you’d think she’d gotten better at shooting things by now.”  
  
“It’s not shooting that’s her problem,” Raoul said, darkly. “It’s wrestling.”  
  
As Alanna trudged back down the length of the yard, they noticed she had one last blunted practice arrow in her quiver. In the next moment, Alanna lifted her bow and loosed, in a deceptively casual gesture. Gary couldn’t help but cry out and spring up as the arrow hissed just a little to the right of his ear. “Watch it!” he protested, rubbing cautiously at his ear.  
  
“You’re already married,” Alanna replied, pragmatically. “I’m sure Cythera wouldn’t mind, if I shot you a couple of times. I doubt she thinks your ears are your best attributes.” She glanced meaningfully at the other haystacks. “I have one more arrow,” she called out.  
  
Sighing, Raoul emerged at once. “I hate haystacks,” he complained. “I think I’ve got straw stuck all over my breeches.” He glared at Gary. “ _This_ was your master plan?”  
  
“Are you _still_ griping about Gary beating you in the Strategic Planning class?” Alanna asked, dryly.  
  
“Yes!” Gary said, just as Raoul shouted, “No! Oh, hello, Buri.”  
  
Grinning, Buri’d retrieved her own arrows and now strode up to join Alanna. “I’d thought you were planning a raid on the Riders, with how your men were carrying on. Turns out it’s the Lioness you’re after, isn’t it? Also, to the lad in the bushes—you have exactly three seconds before I shoot, and I’m a much better shot than the Lioness is.”  
  
Finally, sulkily, Owen clambered out of the bushes. Alanna and Buri both studied him, curious. “You’re…Jesslaw,” Buri finally decided. “Haven’t I seen you prancing around with Kel?”  
  
“I don’t prance,” Owen said, wounded.  
  
“You’re Wyldon’s squire,” said Alanna, almost at the same time. “No wait—you were.”  
  
“Sir Owen of Jesslaw,” Owen introduced, grandly.  
  
“All right,” Alanna said. “Which of you louts dragged Jesslaw into this?”  
  
“He did it,” Gary and Raoul said, at the same time, pointing to the other. Raoul added, a hair later, “You dragged Buri into this!”  
  
Buri advanced on him, grinning wickedly. “No one drags me into things. I told her I wanted in.” She inspected him and shook her head. “You’re a sorry sight, believe me.”  
  
“There were flies,” Raoul grumbled. “I’ve been bitten all over. I think the only thing that was worse was the time those Riders of yours changed our repellent to insect-attracting goop, and right when we were deployed in the swamps too.”  
  
“Oh, you poor big man-creature,” Buri retorted. “Do you need to see the healers?” She grinned at his expression.  
  
“I’d say that’s a point for her,” Gary said, brightly.  
  
“So,” Alanna said, clearing her throat. “How’re we making the assault on Jon?” She smirked at the flabbergasted expressions on Raoul’s and Gary’s faces.   
  
“You never come quietly,” Raoul pointed out. “Every single time, we’ve had to beat you over the head with a stick and carry you in a sack.”  
  
Alanna shrugged. “The novelty wears off, after a while,” she said. “Also, a little bird told me you were coming, and after how many people turned your plan down, I don’t think you could bear it if I told you to take a walk.” She grinned. “Besides, I _like_ it when they’re all terrified of me.”  
  
“A little bird?”  
  
Alanna coughed. “I’m your squire’s _mother_ , you know,” she pointed out.  
  
“Alan betrayed me?” Raoul demanded, aghast.  
  
“Well, to be fair, he didn’t, not intentionally,” Alanna said, thoughtfully. “But he’s awfully bad at lying to his mother.” She laughed at Raoul’s doeful expression. “And Raoul, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out this was your plan: you do this _all the time_.”  
  
Gary said, resigned, “Jon’s totally going to see us coming, isn’t he?”

* * *

  
  
After bursting in on Queen Thayet as she was meeting with some of the ministers and howling wildly (in Owen’s case), the trio (now sans the enthusiastic Sir Owen and Buri) found themselves redirected to a small clearing in the meadows near the King’s Own barracks.  
  
King Jonathan IV of Conté was dressed in old clothing and casually seated cross-legged on an old picnic cloth, munching on a turnover. “Oh good,” he said, calmly, as the three of them turned up. “I was beginning to think you’d never make it.” He eyed them, taking in their frazzled appearance. “I take it Thayet made you grovel a bit.”  
  
“That was evil,” Raoul said, his tone injured.  
  
Jon grinned, unrepentant. “So was kidnapping me in front of half of my ministers, the last time. And so was coming in through the window and corridor _when I was taking a bath_.” He gestured to the two large baskets by his side. “Cloth’s inside, food’s packed…” his Cheshire grin widened, at their expressions. “Just like old times.”  
  
Alanna and Raoul simply sprawled on the soft, springy grass, leaving Gary to fumble for the picnic cloths.  
  
“You’ve gotten soft,” Raoul drawled. “Some grass stains won’t kill you.”  
  
“They won’t,” Gary replied, agreeably. “But Cythera will, if she sees those.”  
  
“Married life,” Jon agreed. “Thayet’d have a fit, too.”  
  
Alanna smirked. “Not a problem for me. George’s out in the field, and I doubt he cares, either way. I once caught him after he’d climbed through the sewers to escape.” She wrinkled her nose and delicately accepted a warm turnover. “Now _that_ was bad.”  
  
“Thankfully, I’m single,” Raoul muttered.  
  
“In defiance of every single attempt to get you safely married off,” Gary muttered, biting into his own turnover and sighing in bliss. “Really, the standard of food at the King’s Own barracks is unacceptably good. Probably explains why you’ve been running over the budget for the past three years. Remind me why we give you so much money again, every year?”  
  
“Because it’s a bribe,” Jon said. “If we didn’t have good food, he’d never emerge from the wilds and come back to proper civilisation again.” It was an old fight, but there was nothing in Jon’s voice at this point in time other than some good old ribbing. “If the barracks food is that good, his men’ll rebel, hit him over the head, and drag him back to Corus if it means eating barracks food rather than his cooking.” He laughed and dodged Raoul’s half-hearted swipe.  
  
“My cooking’s improved, I’ll have you know,” Raoul retorted, loftily. “My squires are divinely blessed—”  
  
“For which I take credit,” Alanna interjected.  
  
“—by the kitchen gods, and Sergeant Domitan, in particular, works miracles with porridge.”  
  
“Porridge,” Gary said, dubiously. “It’s just goop. Watery, tasteless goop.”  
  
“Not his porridge,” Raoul said, seriously. “When you taste his porridge, it’s as if the gods’ve just appeared and—and hugged you inside.”  
  
Jon laughed. “Seriously, Raoul?”  
  
“Suddenly,” Alanna said, “I’m beginning to wonder if this is how all the poems he wrote to Lady Delia sounded like.” It was possible to speak of the name, now, with little hostility; with the bad memories scoured of their bite. It had been a dark time for Tortall, that was true, but all four of them had emerged through the dark years and Tortall was stronger than ever.  
  
“Is that a love poem to Sergeant Domitan then?” Gary asked, with an arched eyebrow.  
  
“Hardly,” Raoul replied. He poured out the juice, sniffing at it to make sure it wasn’t wine. Years ago, they’d had these excursions with mulled wine from the palace. But age had straightened out some of the excess and follies of youth, and now they all drank juice—sometimes mulled, nevertheless—in place of alcohol. He gave them an impish wink. “I think Kel would never forgive me, if I did.”  
  
Gary whistled. “So _that’s_ the way the wind blows.”  
  
Almost at the same time, Alanna said, conversationally, an evil light dancing in her eyes, “Of course, Buri would never forgive you either.”  
  
Raoul choked and almost spilled the juice instead of pouring into a cup. “Careful,” Jon admonished. “Wouldn’t want to get juice all over your breeches, much less the royal breeches.” He was, after all, sitting right next to Raoul.  
  
“The royal breeches,” Raoul retorted, “Are hardly different from ordinary breeches, save for the fact they’re covering your Majestic arse.”  
  
“It’s still the most splendid arse in Corus.”   
  
“A sample size of one doesn’t count,” Gary said, airily. “And Thayet’s not an objective witness.”  
  
“You’ve seen me naked enough times,” Jon growled. “It’s hardly my problem if you’re aesthetically impaired and incapable of recognising true magnificence when you see it—”  
  
“I’ve seen it lots of times,” Alanna said, grinning. “I’m not certain I’d consider it the ‘most splendid arse’ in Corus…”  
  
“Traitor,” Jon declared, stroking his beard. “For that, _you_ can organise next year’s gathering.”  
  
Alanna first popped the grape she was holding into her mouth. Then, she snorted and shook her head. “I organised the one ten years ago,” she pointed out, amused. “In fact, we’ve all had a go. Except for you. I call a vote.”  
  
“Aye,” Gary said, smirking at his cousin’s plight.  
  
“Why not?” That was Raoul; he was passing out the cups. “I could use the break. It’s been me for the past ten years, my men’ve started to notice.”  
  
Alanna smiled sweetly. “Overruled, then. Have fun trying to kidnap, ambush, and otherwise drag the three of us to next year’s outing, Jon.”   
  
“I could just order you, you know,” Jon remarked.  
  
“Nope,” Gary grinned. “It’s in the charter we first drew up, cousin. No use of royal privileges or prerogative, etcetera, because that’s cheating; forfeit to be delivered by a dunking in the muddy river and then to be piled upon by everyone present—“ he nodded to Raoul, who waved a gigantic fist.  
  
“See?” Alanna said. “You’re stuck with it now, Jon. Just smile and say, ‘Thank you, Alanna’.” Laughing, she ducked the apple he threw at her.

**Author's Note:**

> Done for Goldenlake's International Exchange, specifically, the prompt, "SotL gang adventures - epic or around the palace or anything in between." I decided to give it a twist and involve SotL gang adventures as adults, with a healthy dose of the PotS crowd.


End file.
